


feme covert

by kat8cha



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Again sort of, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cuckolding, Doctor/Patient, Genderswap, Hysteria, M/M, Sex Toys, aka the way the patriarchy sexually repressed women for centuries, by claiming it was a medical disease, since doctor combeferre never touches Enjolras, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat8cha/pseuds/kat8cha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madame Pontmercy née Enjolras (who Combeferre will forever think as Mademoiselle Enjolras) is one of many women who suffer from hysteria. Since marriage (the most common cure) has not cured it she visits the one doctor who she knows can help her. Combeferre hates dealing with hysterics, except Mme. Enjolras and he would rather not think about why that is.</p><p>Or, Marius is no good in bed, Enjolras seeks help under the ministrations of Doc Combeferre and an old school vibrator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feme covert

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the Les Mis kink meme requesting fem!Enjolras being brought to orgasm by a doctor for medical purposes.
> 
> Inspired in part by The Technology of Orgasm by Rachel P. Maines, a book detailing the 'medical treatment' and societal suppression of female sexuality in Western society over the years.

The ability to treat hysterics was not a skill that Doctor Combeferre was proud of. He had found clitoral and vulvular massage difficult to learn, as had most of his brethren, and it was a strenuous activity. There was only one doctor that Combeferre had ever interacted with that was not incredibly put off by the treatment of hysterics and Couryfac was not a man that he wished to interact with regularly. He was… low and lewd. And that was the feeling Combeferre associated the treatment of hysterics with, with distaste. They were a valuable commodity, both to his practice and the medical community, but no one had ever died of hysteria, nor become tremendously ill if denied treatment. All in all the continued visitations felt rather like malingering.

But there was one patient that he looked forward to seeing.

He opened the door to the operating theatre with a bounce in his step he would deny. “Mme. Enjolras.”

The woman in question was seated pristinely in a chair, not a jolting chair that would have been improper, but a typical chair set in the operating room for just that purpose. Sitting. She was beautiful, striking, an angel descended among heathens to… ah, but now was not the time to wax lyrical. Let us just saw that she was prettier than most, with long curls of blonde hair that were currently gathered in a French twist at the back of her head. She wore a very nice day dress with flattering nearly red-orange stripes. Combeferre was deliberate not to look at the buttons that lead up to her small, but noticeable, bust.

“It is Madame Pontmercy now.” Léontine Pontmercy née Enjolras set her gloved hands in her lap. “Doctor Combeferre.” 

“Mm-hmm.” Combeferre stroked the beginnings of his modest mustache. It seemed as if everyone was wearing them now and while he was loath to follow fashion he had been informed that such a mustache made one look more distinguished. “And marriage has not alleviated the problem?”

Mme. Enjolras’ first appointment had been years ago when she was JUST Enjolras. Her mother, not a hysteric, had brought her to the doctor in the hope that treatment would give Enjolras the vitality and joie de vivre that so many of her friends had assured her it would. The then young woman had been pale and while not lifeless had been disinterested in a social life and any prospective husbands. She had suffered from insomnia, irritability, a heaviness in her lower abdomen, and, her mother lamented, a decidedly unnatural interest in politics. Combeferre had advised that the best cure for hysteria was marriage and that the mademoiselle’s mother should seek it out at once. But, seeing as he was a young doctor with a young practice and keeping in mind the whispers of how lucrative a practice one that treated hysterics could become, he had offered to tend to Mme. Enjolras himself.

It had been enlightening for both of them.

“My husband is…” Mme. Enjol- ah, Madame Pontmercy paused. “Often away.”

Surely there was more to the story than met the eye but he served as a doctor to the beautiful, young woman, nothing more. No matter what dreams may haunt him at night.

“And horseback riding has not helped?” Combeferre drifted off when Enjolras shook her head. “Shall we, then?” He motioned to the dressing chamber, where Enjolras could change herself into a shift that would allow modesty but still allow him to perform his services. She vanished for what seemed hours (it could not have been, his appointments with her never lasted nearly long enough) and when she returned her hair had also been allowed to fall in a braid down her back. He declined to comment and instead led her to the manipulator, a low table with foot operated pedals that drove the rubbing pads to stimulate her clitoris and drive her to a paroxysm. The machine was his preferred tool for these sessions, even with women as lovely as Mme- excuse him, Madame Pontmercy.

She lay on the table with a sigh and, after he had adjusted the rubbing pads accordingly, gave him a nod that he could begin. Combeferre seated himself by the foot pedals and, slowly at first, began to operate the machine. It took a while for both the machine, Combeferre, and Enjolras to pick up steam. (Although certainly at this point Combeferre could have afforded one of the steam powered manipulators but he felt there was no néed.) Gradually, a sweat began to appear on Léontine’s smooth pale forehead, her cheeks became flushed and she bit becomingly at her bottom lip. Her hands moved frantically, rubbing this way and that against wood worn smooth by similar motions. Combeferre watched, consumed with guilt, as her nipples hardened and became visible underneath her shift, as her vaginal secretions dampened the shift between her legs.

“Ah,” Léontine cried, her legs beginning to twitch. She pressed her heels to the table, a sign that her paroxysm was beginning. “Oh! Oh! Doctor!” 

Combeferre almost froze, she had never called a name before when she had an attack, never his certainly, but to stop the treatment now would have been detrimental. He continued to pedal until finally she screamed and her back bowed. Then he gradually slowed down until he came to a stop. The madame shuddered, still affected by a cure that seemed no better or saner than the disease. “I…” He licked his bottom lip. Coveting and lust were must unbecoming sins. “Madame, I will fetch you some water.”

And with that, he rushed out of the room, not even stopping to help her off of the table.


End file.
